


Professor Moneyworth’s Love-O-Matic Matches

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas at Hogwarts, Dorms, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Interhouse Unity, M/M, Oh wait, This is possibly just fluff disguised as angst, and a kitten!, but I'm not the author so, it's a match, survey says!, that's my job here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: The questionnaires were stupid. They started out as a joke that all of Hogwarts was in on. But Harry knew before he even opened the envelope how big his little problem was about to get. Because whoever said 'knowledge is power' had never developed an inconvenient crush on a fellow rival the year after a war. And they'd probably also never stupidly filled out a Love-O-Matic matching survey that everyone was bound to ask about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt of Tumblr, a kitten, and a Draco broken by the war! Add in some matchin magic and what do you get! A fluff fest fic of fabulous feline frivolity.

 

**Professor Moneyworth’s Love-O-Matic Matches, all the love, none of the hassle of first dates. Your matches have arrived!**

It had all started as a not-very-funny joke. The pamphlets had all arrived on the same day, flooding down at breakfast from the morning owls like brightly coloured confetti. They’d made everyone laugh at the absurdity of the message. Yet, like some sort of creeping infectious trend, the surveys slowly crept in. There was no telling who had started it, who sent the survey back first, but once it had started it was hard to stop. Soon, the Professor’s promised pairings became an unstoppable fad. It made sense when you thought about it. No one _really_ believed that love could be as simple as a survey, but it was also true that no one wanted to be the only person who didn’t get matched.

Results were a closely guarded secret, squirrelled away at the bottom of locked chests or smuggled out of breakfast in secret pockets. Shoved beneath charmed pillows so that no one would ask questions. It was possible the secrets would start getting to everyone eventually, but for now, the attitude in the close-knit halls was simply extra jovial, maybe a little flirtier than normal. For now, it brings a little lightness to the eighth year dorms, the type that had been missing for the first two months of school.

November had always been cold and grey, but the darkness seemed to permeate every nook of the grounds earlier than normal this year, and Harry was morose—though even he had to admit it was getting a little old.

He held the large, pink envelope in both his hands as he stared at the rough surface of the lake. He’d been hoping that filling it out, getting his own love matches would be humorous enough to filter out his sadness, his fear. It hadn’t worked so far. Mostly because he already knew what he wanted.

No. Scratch that. He knew _who_ he wanted.

He just didn’t know how to mesh that information with who he was, what his responsibilities to the New World Order were. He didn’t know how to match himself to that; how did he explain to other people that he was fixated on a former master of the death at Hogwarts. How did he explain this to _Hermione_? He’d plotted out many starts to the conversation in his mind. He never got much past the first sentence.

_Hey, Hermione, have you ever noticed that Draco’s got really nice forearms? Because when I was rebuilding the east wall the other day, I noticed, and now I keep dreaming about— Hermione, I know that you’ll understand this, what with Ron working back in London and you all the way up here, and since I’ve been so lonely I’ve started talking to—_

_I told you last summer that I was gay and you were so cool about that that I figured I could let you know that I’m hopelessly attracted to a Death Eater and—_

_Hermione, I’d really like it if Draco Malfoy would fuck me into a wall and then buy me dinner. Cool?_

He shook his head at his own imaginings and chastised himself for being a giant, dramatic bitch. He tore open the envelope and let his eyes wander the pink, frilly page it contained.

**You were matched with 56 students at _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._**

**Three are in your year. Two share your birth month! Your perfect match is _older_ and _male_. **

Harry sighed. Of fucking course. That made perfect sense, really, given how his year was currently going. Shivering in the November wind, he shoved the envelope and the paper into the inner pocket of his robes and stalked darkly back up to the castle.

His dinner turned to ash in his mouth, fork constantly adding a tinny taste to everything he placed on his tongue. The whole ‘interhouse unity’ game was great in theory, but he hardly felt that it was necessary to create an ever-changing seating chart in the Great Hall. Tonight, he was placed between three chattering first year Hufflepuffs who kept asking him questions through full mouths of roast beef. To his left, a sneering group of older students seemed extremely unhappy about the conversation; they kept glaring at Harry, as though he was causing the disruption. He’d been slowly turning to his right throughout the entire meal, which was a problem, since to his right sat Draco Malfoy.

He was silent, as usual, these days. His robes were not regulation colour; McGonagall had basically given up on trying to keep the eighth years in uniform. There were only thirty-five of them, after all, and since they mostly did a strange combination of private tutorials and small practical classes, she’d quickly started to forgive small infractions. Sometime around mid-September, Parvati had started showing up in full, brightly coloured Muggle outfits that made Draco’s current deep-purple robes seem understated. Unfortunately, the colour only highlighted the parts of Draco that Harry had suddenly started noticing. His pale, long features seemed sharper under the jewel tone. His hair bleached to silver as it curled at the collar. If he hadn’t been so dower, the light in his eyes would have also been reflected.

He’d been crying, recently, Harry could see. He was silent now, but his hand fidgeted constantly with the goblet he wasn’t drinking from, and he’d barely eaten anything off his nevertheless full plate. Harry _hated_ that he’d noticed these things.

He sighed. Stood up abruptly, much to the surprise of the girls around him, and left the hall.

**Your Perfect Match aligns with you on 93% of your survey answers!**

**He/She also: _likes treacle tart, values family and friends, favourite animal is cats_. **

Harry confronted Draco in a terrible mood on Monday morning. It wasn’t intentional, and it definitely did not go well. He’d slept terribly, tossing and turning and waking up every five minutes. It was a Bad Dream kind of night, where the silence of the dorms really bothered him. Finally, around five that morning, he’d given up and gone down to lie by the fire with a duvet, passing out for the last few hours in a weary sort of way. He missed sleeping next to other people. His own bed was too small and too large and too not-containing-his-friends, and the dreams tended to get the better of him most nights.

They were in potions before he finally snapped. He’d made it through Charms and Advanced Detection Spells, two hours of torturous practice for their first set of midterm exams, due to attack the upper years the second week of December, now only a fortnight away.

Nothing happened. Nothing, except that Draco, sour-faced and bedraggled, had bumped his arm as he set up a station in front of Harry’s own bubbling caldron.

“What the fuck is your problem with me lately?” Harry spit.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t sneer. He pulled the sleeves of his robes down and bunched them into his palms and continued walking, more of a contained and silent shuffle than an actual gait.

“Sorry,” Draco replied quietly, staring at the floor. “Was just heading to the stores, didn’t see you moving too.”

“Look at me!” Harry demanded, causing many other people to also turn their heads.

He did look up, but he wasn’t angry as Harry had hoped, or proud, as he had always been before. His eyes were wide, dark circles crowding out the lids and worry lines etched into his forehead. “I meant it, Potter,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

Cowed, Harry dropped it, muttering to himself as he turned back to his table. He stayed quiet the rest of his brew time, but when he noticed Draco packing up, he intentionally threw an entire extra sprig of holly into his bubbling mixture, causing it to turn blue and catch fire.

“Sorry, Professor Lewen,” he murmured as the old witch tutted at him. “Need to try again. I’m just going to run to the loo and give it another go.”

He only just heard her mumble how hopeless he was as he left the classroom at a quick clip. He caught Draco by the elbow and whirled him around just as he turned the corner. For a split second, a glare lit up Draco’s face. It was a strange reality, to say that a glare lit up a face, but it was true. He returned, for that moment, to himself. It made Harry’s stomach lurch, then immediately after, fall into a melancholy that was familiar and painful.

They stared at each other for a moment, until finally, Harry cleared his throat as he remembered that he was the one who’d accosted Draco in a corridor.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispered, looking away.

“Why?” Draco spat, energy behind the word that made Harry smirk.

“You don’t seem yourself,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“I’m not,” Draco said simply.

He turned and continued down the corridor. Harry sighed and followed.

“Is there...can I help?”

Draco scoffed.“No?”

“Hey, fine, sorry.”

Draco froze and spun around. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we aren’t friends. Have you forgotten that? We aren’t friends and you don’t owe me anything.”

“I know but—”

Now frustrated, Draco’s hands flew up in a strangely animated show of emotion for the normally sneering, judgemental Slytherin.

“But _what,_ Potter! I’m sad. I’m sad and angry, and half my family and friends are dead or injured or in prison. I can’t go home for Christmas, and I’m in school despite any assurance that anyone will—ever—hire me. So, _yeah_ , I’m not my _fucking_ self. Now leave me to my misery, please and bloody thank you.”

He stormed off before Harry had the chance to respond; for no reason that he could understand, Harry’s heart swelled.

“No,” he said aloud. “No, I don’t think I will, Malfoy. And I have no _fucking_ clue why.”

 **Your second place match** **aligns with you on 91% of your survey answers!**

“Neville, I have a favour,” Harry said, jumping off his bed the second Neville unsuspectingly entered the dorm.

“Harry!” Neville yelped in surprise. He sighed, next, though, and Harry laughed, already anticipating what was happening.

“Neville, relax. This isn’t about the match. I...I am wondering if you can get me something. Or maybe just come with me to get something?”

A week later, they stood in the overcrowded and smelly epicentre of Magical Menagerie, hands out to accept a small, mewling grey kitten that the shopkeeper looked extremely upset to be letting go.

“She’s a handful, but…” he murmured, giving the kitten a final scritch as Harry pulled her to his chest. “Best half-kneazle I’ve ever had. You’re sure it’s what you’re looking for? She’s going to be...rather large.”

“She’ll be perfect,” Neville insisted.

Harry truly wasn’t sure, since Crookshanks had almost ruined cats in general for him, let alone kneazles, but Neville insisted that the magical breed was far more docile when mixed, and far more intelligent than the average cat. Holding the tiny bundle now, who snuggled down beneath his cupped hands and almost immediately fell asleep with her pointy ears flicking gently, he had to admit he could try and let him be right.

“You know that this is still a terrible plan, right?” Neville whispered as they left the store.

“Oh, absolutely.” Harry laughed, tucking the kitten into his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

****Your main personality markers are:** _**Impulsivity, care for loved ones, trust when there is none.** _**

****Your match's markers are** __**:**_ **Care for loved ones, difficulty trusting, intense love** _**

“Harry, this is your last chance. I’m taking the train now,” Hermione whined as she resettled her large book bag and bag. He took her duffle from her gently and shook his head.

“Hermione, we’ve been over this. I need to stay and finish my potions assignment. I’ll be there Christmas eve.”

“I can’t believe Professor Lewen is making you stay,” she huffed.

“I can’t believe you’re angry about it,” Harry teased. “I’m the one who screwed up my final mark. She’s being really kind letting me redo it.”

“Well, I should fucking think so,” Hermione replied darkly. “You should be getting passing marks just from standing in class upright every day.”

He laughed again, but her brow creased and she leaned forward to fold him into her arms.

“Are you going to be alright being here alone?” she asked gently as she pulled back. “There’s no one else in your room staying, right?”

Harry winced. He thought he’d been hiding the dreams from her. He should know better by now that Hermione Granger didn’t miss much. He cursed himself for forgetting that and forced a smile onto his face.

“Hermione, I’m fine. You go see Ron, I’ll see you in six days. You’re being a bit dramatic, love.”

She scowled at him and punched his arm. “Fine. But tell someone if you’re not fine. Okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She took her bag back and left through the great doors at a clipped pace. Harry waited until the door closed again before wandering into the now empty Great Hall long enough to pull his cloak over his head. He was part ashamed of what he was about to do, and part too far gone to actually care. He walked the now familiar path up three flights of stairs and through the nooks and crannies to the stained glass window of the toads by the lake. There, curled into a ball, sat Draco Malfoy, holding a cat toy and a bottle of butterbeer. The kitten was on it’s back, trying in vain to capture the tiny feathered bait attached to the string above its head. Harry settled onto the floor, cross-legged, across the corridor, back against the wall, and stilled his breathing as much as he could.

The cat had been in Draco’s care for only two weeks, but already, she seemed three times larger than she had. She was sweet and attentive, and Draco, in small increments, was seeming lighter. It had taken way too much effort on Harry’s part to get the kitten to Draco in a way that was neither suspicious nor conspicuous, and he now owed at least three first years favours that he would one day have to trade in on. The thirteenth plan had been the one to work, placing the kitten in a cardboard box, leaving it in the owlery in the space reserved for Draco’s preferred school owl, with a note that said ‘Can you give me a new home?’.

The kitten had been given the very Pureblood full name “Madame Sophina Le Zinnia Malfoy”, which Harry knew because Draco liked to croon at her with her full name. It probably would have annoyed Harry in another time, but since Draco more often cooed pet names at the grey fluffball, Harry was instead enchanted. Most often, she was ‘Zinny’, but it was just as likely to hear Draco mutter _Soph, Zinzin, madamoiselle, Z _,__ and—Harry’s personal favourite— _chouchou_. He often held the cat to his face as he murmured secret affections to her as she dozed in his arms.

“You know, Zin,” Draco was saying now. “It’s not so bad being in the castle now, is it? It’s quieter, and the snow isn’t disgusting from people trampling it down on their way to the greenhouses. It’s...peaceful.”

He sounded so sad that Harry’s shoulders snuck up to his shoulders as he hugged his knees to his chest in the effort to not stand up and comfort him.

“We are going to be just fine, Madamoiselle. Just fine.”

* * *

For days, they did this; well, okay, _Harry_ did this. Draco didn’t strictly know what was happening, which made Harry’s face heat in shame anytime he thought about it too long.

Every morning, Harry really __did__ need to fix his potions assignment. He would spend the hours between breakfast and lunch either buried in books doing research, or in his shirtsleeves over his gold cauldron, begging his latest combination not to blow up. But, after lunch, he’d throw on his cloak and find Draco.

He never saw him in meals, but he always managed to find him relatively quickly in the corridors. He didn’t dwell too much on the why. Draco spent hour after hour playing with the kitten, reading, dozing in various window seats. Harry couldn’t help but draw the comparison between the kitten and its owner; they were perfectly suited to each other. Sitting quietly and listening or watching, Harry never grew bored. Even this fact worried him; Harry Potter was a restless person. It was his basic nature. But something about being near Draco Malfoy right now, with his soft kitten voice and his slow, deliberate actions, soothed the fear in Harry until he would sleep each night, _almost_ undisturbed by the nightmares.

Two days before Christmas eve, with Harry settled into his usual place on the floor just a few feet away from Draco, the kitten hopped down from the window. She wandered over to him, sniffing and stalking his spot on the floor.

“Do you think he knows that we know he’s there, Zinzin?” Draco murmured, swinging his legs down from the window and watching the cat as it approached Harry’s trainers. “I don’t think he does, do you?”

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat, but he froze in place and ignored the urge to run.

“You see, the problem, Zinnia, is that Potter has always forgotten the same thing about me,” Draco continued, reaching into the pocket of his scarlet edged robes as he stood up. He bent down and scooped up the kitten, who had already started trotting back. In his other hand, he held a familiar looking, pink, frilled piece of paper that was folded into a tiny square.

“He _forgets_ ,” Draco said to the kitten, “that I am a Slytherin. That I think about things in a very specific way. That by the time _he_ figures something out, I’ve known about it for weeks and have already tried about seven different solutions.”

Draco put the paper into the same hand as the kitten and carefully took three steps forward. If he’d leant down right now, he would probably smell Harry’s cheap shampoo and cinnamon toothpaste.

“Thing is,” Draco stated, “we don’t live in that world anymore. I don’t get to be a Slytherin. Potter doesn’t get to be a rash Gryffindor. Everything has changed. I don’t even get to have the privacy of a __corridor__ apparently.” He paused and stared at the wall behind Harry’s head.

“If you don’t take the cloak off right now, Potter,” he threatened, his tone bordering on violent, “I’ll start shooting hexes at these very old and no doubt priceless tapestries. I’m sure __you__ don’t care, but...well, I don’t have an end to that sentence but most of these were woven before Godric was even in nappies and honestly you _should_ care.”

Harry sighed loudly and pulled the cloak from his head, not moving from his cross-legged position on the floor. “You’re very irritating, you know.”

A hint of a smirk found its way to Draco’s mouth before he seemed to remember himself and scowled instead. “Why are you following me?”

“You know why,” Harry replied sheepishly.

Draco looked away, gesturing to the pink paper in his hand. “This? Don’t be an idiot. The survey is stupid.”

“You know as well as I do that this isn’t about the _survey_. Or the kitten.” Harry let pain and anger hit his tone and it snapped Draco’s eyes back to his.

“The kitten?” Draco replied in disbelief. He considered a moment and then held Zinnia up to his face with scrutiny. She mewled in distress and he shook his head and held her back against his chest, stroking her head and pulling gently on her ear tuft until she purred so loudly that Harry could hear it from his spot on the floor. “Of _course_ the kitten. I should have known. What exactly do you want from me, Potter?”

Harry let himself blush, let the embarrassment show rather than try and keep it hidden, but said nothing as he stood up and began to walk away.

****Your Perfect Match scored similarly to you in the categories of:** _**values (85%), life experiences (92%), friend qualities (81%), and physical attractions (93%).** _**

****You are considered** _**Highly Compatible** _**

September had been a hard month. They’d all gotten back to school in a scattered trickle rather than their usual mob. There were no thestral drawn carriages to bring them up to the ruined bridge, no boats to ferry them across the rubble in the centre of the lake. The other years had all arrived on the first and classes were in full swing—sort of. ‘Full swing’ also included mandatory rebuild hours, older students using newly minted spells to help return bricks to former locations. A constantly rotating string of ministry employees arrived every day to fortify walls and reapply charms. While most students weren’t actually expected to rebuild, the eighth years all seemed to collectively scoff at McGonnagall’s insistence and made themselves useful on the grounds. The other professors just excused them from class; no one was about to start a fight with a group of vets who probably didn’t actually need to be in school.

Harry had started on the East wall first. The tower above him stood impossibly stable, and the memory of watching Dumbledore’s body fall from its edge kept him focused and determined well after all the others would leave to eat. Almost silently one random Wednesday, Draco had joined him. Side-by-side, they would lift their wands to affix brick after brick. When exhausted of magic, they would move them by hand, piling the cement glue with rudimentary tools. As dark would approach from the lee of the mountains to the North, they would stop at some unseen signal and stomp up to the castle in silence. They worked this way for two weeks.

Disconcerted, Minerva had called Harry into her office to ask what Draco had done to him, or what Harry held over Draco.

“No one else will work with him,” she’d said with a sneer showing her disapproval.

“I understand why,” Harry had replied with a shrug. “We’re just getting a job done.”

Still, the conversation unsettled Harry. Why __wasn’t__ he bothered by Draco’s presence? He’d studied him for three more days until, annoyed, Draco had put an end to that.

“You can stop watching me. I’m...just trying to do my part. I’ll leave.”

“Why?”

“You clearly heard something. It’s fine, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“I don’t need to hear anything to know what you’ve done. The war is over Malfoy.”

“Yes, thank you. So?”

“So.” Harry stared daggers into the boldface Draco faced him with. “So get back to work.”

Slowly, so slowly that for the first few hours, Harry wasn’t convinced it was actually happening, Draco started to show his humanity again. He swore gently under his breath when the work got hard. He made small quips when things went wrong. He allowed hilarious commentary about people they could see in the distance. Not mean, just funny. And then, of course, he apologised.

The apology took them through an entire afternoon. A conversation neither of them was ready to have that was mitigated by hard work and hot September sun. It was shortly after that day that Harry started noticing the forearms.

Yes, September had been a hard month.

Harry may have been pining, hopelessly in __crush__ and embarrassingly attracted to a man who he only barely knew, but Draco was the one who changed everything. Harry would always know that, no matter what else happened. The leaves had just begun to change, only days before October arrived when they’d worked together to lift a large, white brick high above their heads and set it into the buffer to the tower. The wall was complete. It looked as though it always had been. They’d both lowered their wands at the same time, echoing grins on their face and chuckles of effort and disbelief matching the bright sun in the sky.

Harry had lifted his sleeve to wipe his forehead, lifted his glasses to his head to remove the grime from his eyes. When he put them back, Draco’s face was only an inch or so from his own. Quick as breathing, Draco’s mouth found his and kissed him firmly, a small breath releasing from both of them before he was gone.

“Thanks for not making me work somewhere else,” Draco muttered, a hand on Harry’s chest. “And for saving us all. Have an excellent life.”

Which was a ridiculous thing to say, given that they were going to be at school together for the next eight months. Harry had torn off after Draco down the lawn the second his senses caught up with him, but Hermione and Ron peeling around the corner with Ginny in tow had distracted him just long enough to lose him in the wide grounds. He’d likely just ducked around a corner, but by the time he’d finished a strange afternoon visit with his best friend and ex-girlfriend, enough time had passed after the kiss to cool off Harry’s head and make him awkward. He’d spent the last two months trying to work out how to bring it up.

Yet here he was, walking away from __Draco__ , and effectively turning the tables.

Behind him, Harry felt Draco hesitate, then decide to follow.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

Without turning or stopping, Harry said the sentence he’d been asking for weeks. “Why’d you kiss me.”

“Always wanted to,” Draco replied. “Seemed like my only chance.”

Harry paused. He whirled around and grabbed the pink paper from Draco’s kitten-filled hands. He made no attempt to stop Harry as he unfolded it and read the coveted survey results inside. He found nothing surprising since his own survey read much the same way. He wrinkled his nose.

“Pansy is your secondary match?” he teased. Draco smiled a very small smile.

“I told you, the survey is stupid. I don’t know why anyone is keeping them a secret,” he whispered, embarrassed and blushing. “Why are you here?”

“Checking on my kitten. And finishing Potions. And it’s Christmas. I love Christmas at Hogwarts.”

“Liar. You should be at home. With your family,” Draco said darkly.

Unequipped to deal with that piece of anger right at this moment, Harry took a step toward Draco instead. He reached down and scratched the kitten between its very pointy ears. She stretched and laid a paw on Harry’s hand, pinning it to Draco’s cool, hairless arm.

“I have a much better secret,” Harry whispered, leaning in a breath more as Draco drew in a breath that he did not release. “You have incredibly wonderful forearms.”

Draco’s breath whooshed out in a surprised laugh. “Forearms!?” he exclaimed. “Forear—“

But Harry didn’t let him finish. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s back and drew both he and Zinnia close.

“Forearms,” he confirmed, kissing Draco deeply, and backing them into the tapestry behind them to continue the contact.

“We can’t.” Draco pulled back and placed a hand on Harry’s chest.

“That’s certainly what they are all going to tell us. I suspect even McGonagall will have something to say about it.”

“Exactly. What on earth would you even tell them?”

Harry laughed, tucking Draco’s hair back behind his ear and leaving his fingers curled around the back of Draco’s neck. “Well,” he began, mischief in his eyes, “I plan on explaining that we are a 93% match according to Science.”

Draco laughed, turning his head away as he considered. “What about the other seven per cent?”

“Forearms,” Harry concluded, dragging Draco’s face back to his own.

_****Disclaimer: Professor Moneyworth’s Love-O-Matic Matches is an algorithm that matches compatibility based on survey questions alone. We take no responsibility for the appropriateness of matches that may occur.** ** _

 


End file.
